Second Chances
by Ladyfun
Summary: Written for the Quidditch Competition, Round 9. Draco Malfoy holds something back,ultimately being the single most honorable thing he's done, in his short career.
1. Chapter 1

**Author: Ladyfun**

**Pairing: **HG-DM friends

**Rating**: Generally T

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun.

**SUMMARY**: For the Quiddich Leauge Fanfic competition. What is Draco holding back from Hermione? Draco-Hermione friendship.

**A/N: **Written for Round 9 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is Beater 2 for the Wigtown Wanderers. Prompt: Riddle's Diary. Optional prompts used: (word) Possible; (emotion) Annoyed; (emotion) Lonely

* * *

**Round 9-Love for the Captain**

Title/Link: **Second Chances**

Team: **Wigtown Wanderers**

Position: **BEATER 2/ Draco Malfoy-Holding Back  
**

* * *

He remembers every detail about that event; every bloody, painful detail.

It was in their 5th year, and he was the star potions student; of course, it didn't hurt that Slytherins generally taught the class, and the classroom was in the dungeons, for Pete's sakes! Going into finals, he was neck in neck with Her-_Whine_-ony Granger, the Goody-Two-Shoes Gryffindor mudblood; and if it weren't bad enough that Zabinini and Pans were giving him grief, well, it extended to his family as well.

A mother-son lunch had "been arranged," during his Hogsmeade weekend.

"You're not going to let that mud-_muggleborn_, best you, dear? It would be rather embarrassing for your father, Draco. If at all possible, you need to find a way to end up on top." His mother cautioned.

"I know, Mother!" He said, annoyed.

_Really?_ He thought to himself. _Grown up wizards had nothing better to do than worry about the marks of a few children?_

Elegantly daubing her mouth with her linen napkin, She lowered her voice, so that only he could hear. "Draco," She hissed."It makes it very challenging for your father, if a case is being made that certain classes of citizens are sub-optimal, shall we say, and one of those in question bests his own pure-blood son!"

"She's bested a lot of people's pureblood sons, and daughters!" He groused.

"That's just it, don't you see? If you can put her in her place, so to speak, it would do much to help Lucius regain favored status..."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes, because really, what good would that do? This conversation had been predestined, and it was irrelevant, he knew, as to what his opinion might actually offer.

The simple truth was, Hermione was a machine. A lean, mean, studying machine. She was a human encyclopedia, spitting out facts and answers left an right; she would wear you down with her persistence. He was not, nor would he ever be.

But...he was good at potions; he was proud of that. He grew nervous when he heard his mom day she and Mrs. Zabini and Mr. Parkinson had "brainstormed" a few ideas. But instead, he smiled wanly and he promised his mom he would "take care of the problem."

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

"Zabaini? Pans? What is _that_?"

They stood before him, breathless, in the Room of Requirement where they demanded he meet them. "What does it look like, Malfoy? Its one of the final potions for end of the year marks!"

Draco grew even more annoyed, if that was possible. "Merlin's beard, you arse! I _know_ that's what it is! I mean, what is it that _you_ are doing with it?" He demanded.

The dark haired Slytherin boy had a malevolent grin, and looked at his partner in crime, Pansy Parkinson. Sounding as though it was Christmas morning, he blurted out, "It's Hermione Granger's final potion, that was supposed to sit in the warm bath for 24 hours!"

"Wow, its really a deep purple..." He commend, realizing his had not come close to even that hue. With that he felt a hard whack! on his arm. "Hey!"

"Quit being such a git!" Pansy's annoyed voice broke out. " We got it for you, now, you know what to do, Malfoy." Her voice reeked with malevolence. "The jinx is only going to last another 20 minutes on that stupid proctor, watching the lab, so you have to move fast!"

"Why don't you two do it? You got the damn thing!"

Blase rolled his eyes. "Because we're not your house-elves, Malfoy! We got it for you, excuse us for thinking you had to do a little damn work to get your 1st in class award in potions! _You_ sabotage it, and return it to the lab, yourself!"

So this is what his mother meant, in terms of "help," Draco thought, ironically. Purebloods, turned terrorist. Turned common thieves! All to prove that muggleborns are "stealing" true wizards' magic. How ironic.

"Oh. Ok-Okay." He said, taking the beaker from them and the bubbling caldron. He collected his expression. "I know exactly what to add to this! Should blow up, right in the mudbloods face, actually!"

"Wicked!" Zabinini said with a grin. "Alright mate, leaving you to it. C'mon, pans!"

They headed out of the room, but Pansy lingered, momentarily. She regarded the lonely boy who used to be her best friend. She felt bad for all the pressure everyone was putting on him...for one hot second. Deciding sympathetic gestures were best left to the weak and the Gryffindors, she left, uttering one parting salvo over her shoulder in parting: "_Twenty minutes_, Draco! And we're not taking the fall for you, got it?"

"No worries, I just need to mix up a few things here, before I go!" He said, authoritatively, in response. "Room of Requirement, I need a Potions laboratory!"

As the room changed, his friends wished him a good luck, and the door shut.

Draco hit his head on the table, saying "Shit, shit, shit!" Over and over.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Dobby was tugging, frantically, on her arm. "Miss Hermione! You need to come with Dobby, now! _Alone!"_ His eyes were big and worried.

"Oh, okay?" Hermione said, from her secret corner of the library. "Should we tell Harry and Ron-"

"No!" Screeched Dobby. "Ms. Hermione must come...alone."

And he took her arm, and used elfin magic to transport her via apparition her to the room of requirement. Hermione walked off his arm, and he was gone. The blinked her eyes, the room dark. As her vision accommodated, she realized this was probably a very bad idea. She jumped, startled, realizing she wasn't alone, as a sole voice spoke.

Recognizing the voice, she confirmed that it was absolutely a bad idea.

Draco, looking haggard and years older than his actual chronological age, stepped out from behind a potions bench. "Granger." He said, dully.

"Malfoy." She replied, neutrally.

"I..." he trailed off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Oh, Merlin's beard, this is such a colossally bad idea!" He growled, to himself.

"Hopefully that covers taking me hostage, imperiousing me, setting fire to my hair-"

"Stop!" He said, angrily. "I should be planning those things, and thinking that way, honestly! I don't know what the hell has come over me, lately. I..."

Hermione's eyes darted around the Room of Requirement, noting its appearance, and nodding, impressed. "I have to admit...I am well, surprised at your resourcefulness, Malfoy! I should have thought of using this, instead of begging Professor Snape for after hours passes."

He shrugged. "Well, it doesn't have all the rare ingredients for potions class, the advanced stuff. That's off limits, without a certified handler, like Snape."

She switched topics. "How'd you get Dobby to come get me, Malfoy? Did you threaten him?" She said, warily.

He felt his ire rise at her words._ Honestly, she made it so easy for people to despise her, really!_ He thought to himself. He watched as her eyes narrowed, as though she saw his thoughts. He quickly threw up his walls that were inadvertently down from fatigue.

"You despise me, because I don't want to see a creature abused, Malfoy? That's the problem with you pureblo-"

He cut her off. "No, that's not why, but way to show your predjuices, Golden Girl! You_ just assumed_ I did something vile, when in fact, I merely asked him if he had time to help."

Hermione looked at him, incredulously. "Help? With what?"

He lived up the cauldron, shaped as a flask in his hand. "With this."

She looked around, nervously. "Uh, is that mine, Draco?"

"yes."

"Why do you have it, as opposed to the water bath it was assigned to in Snape's classroom?" She asked, calmly .

"I...uh..." his head fell.

Hermione calmly sat down at the bench, no malice or anger in her face, whatsoever. Hermione wasn't just book smart, anymore; these past few years with the Order had taught her to read people. And from what she could intuit, Draco was on the precipice of disaster, and her losing it wouldn't help him with this turmoil he was dealing with.

Instead, she spelled two butter beers, and some cheese, apples, and crackers on a plate. "Here," she offered the sullen boy. "I promise not to lick your glass, so you won't get muggleborn cooties." She grinned, which he returned, weakly.

_He looks like he hasn't eaten in days_, she observed.

"How did you get it such a deep purple?" He finally asked, after woofing down some food, and taking a long drink of the butter beer.

The brightest witch of her age gave a tiny shrug. "Eh, I used real ginger, instead of dried ginger or ginger paste."

"Wow, that's ..." His eyes went wide, realizing the genus of such a simple move. "...Wow." He stuffed four more crackers in his mouth, and polished off the last of his butter beer.

Hermione looked at him. "Who put you up to this, Malfoy?"

"Who didn't?" He sighed. "Everyone!"

The Golden Girl sighed. "_Harry_ didn't, for one! _Ron_ didn't, for another! Dean Thomas... Luna Lovegood... shall I go on?"

"What's your point? Everyone besides the Gryffindorks."

"The term 'Everyone' is a very strict assumption, Malfoy! More importantly, why are you giving it back...intact? I read your mind. It's clean...you didn't do anything to it. Other than not having an even warming milieu for the last hour, it's fine. What gives?"

He was standing up, looking outside the window to determine if they were being watched. Reassuring himself they weren't, he spoke in a low tone. "Because _when I beat_ you in potions, it will be because **I** beat you, not some trumped up crap by hooligans to stack the deck for my crazy parents and their-" He stopped abruptly, realizing he said too much.

Hermione looked shocked. Quietly, she spelled summer sausage with the cheese and crackers, and they munched in silence, for awhile.

"She's not always like this, you know."

"Who?" Hermione said, her mouth full. "Um, excuse me."

He nodded. "My mother."

Hermione didn't rub it in, she didn't call him a filthy Death Eater or any such like insults towards his mother. Surprisingly, he didn't rush to leave once the potion was handed over, either. They had moved on to summer sausage and the second round of butter beer, instead. A small miracle happened, that night; he started talking to her, honestly, as long as she swore on Harry's life not to tell anyone nor try to "convert" him to the light. It was such a relief, as he told her of the inordinate pressure that was being put on him to be perfect and not let the "mudblood" beat him. The fear everyone had, these days; the loss of any happiness, truly.

"Blimey, Malfoy!" Hermione said, after herring about his third_ crucio_ at the hands of "well-meaning" teachers. "I used to feel sorry for myself that my parents didn't understand the wizarding world, and have magic; now I think I got it all wrong. Perhaps its worse if they do!" She shook her head.

He looked at her. "How is that any different than muggle's spanking their kids? That's even more inhumane!"

"Newsflash, Malfoy: they don't all do that."

"They don't?"

"Nope."

"Yours didn't?" He looked at her, in disbelief, as she shook her head, no.

"You know what, Malfoy? I do know lots of wizard families, and _very few_ that I know of, have used the_ Crutaciaus _ curse on their own children! I would estimate... like less than 3 percent." She guessed.

Draco felt a surge of emotion - angry, hurt, lonely; but one thing he wouldn't tolerate, was this subtle jab at his family by the _mud_- muggleborn. He retorted, furiously, "That's because you know blood traders! And half breeds! And -"

Hermione remained calm, raising her hand. "Cool it, with the propaganda, Malfoy! Look," she pointed between them, "Here in the faux Potions room, its just you, me, and this one last lonely piece of summer sausage! _No one_ cares. Furthermore, of the pureblood families, the 97% that _aren't_ crucio'ing their kids, I guarantee have their own problems, in some other way."

He stuffed it in his mouth, chewing, angrily.

"It's just not cursing their children. So, then, Beetle the Bard... instead of internally combusting, how about we think of a solution to the Potions conundrum?"

"What potions conundrum?" He said, not understanding.

She rolled his eyes. "You really should get some sleep, and not stay up all night raping and pillaging..." she said.

"I ... I don't rape." He replied, stilted, but unmistakably good-natured. "Just pillage."

"Oh! Okay. In that case, may I offer a solution?"

"I don't understand the problem!" He said, frustrated.

She rolled her eyes, now realizing that the ignoramus gene was squarely located on the Y chromosome and not a phenonomon unique to Harry and Ron. "Draco Malfoy! Your friends are expecting a fireworks display tomorrow in lab- what will they say if that doesn't happen? That you held back, you went soft! they'll call you a coward!"

"But that's what I_ did_ do, Granger...that's what I am." He said glumly.

"_No_!" She said with such firmness it startled them both. "Do you know what it took to_ hold back_ on vandalizing this potion? It took such courage and character, Draco! This might have been the bravest thing I've seen any student do all year...this year!" She was getting revved up, speaking with such passion. _Weak_ people destroy the competition; strong people build them up...so they can have a worthy advisary!"

He felt a long forgotten feeling, bubble up to the surface, in himself. Pride.

"So, I propose this: You_ keep_ my potion. Tell them you swapped yours and mine, because mine was better. Thus, you expect to mark the higher score over me. I will look appropriate shocked, if necessary. That's better than doing something rather drastic like _having it explode_, which would have the teachers all over it before you could say_ Bellatrix Lestrange is Deranged, _5 times fast_!_"

He gave her a warning look.

She grinned. "Okay, sorry! No politics. But she is deranged..."

"On that, I don't disagree." He said. He looked reflective. "_You'd do that_, Hermione? Turn in the lesser potion?"

She looked at him thoughtful. "Well...not exactly. I said I'd let you turn in mine."

"I don't follow..."

"Well, when I pre-read the lab, and saw we had a step involving a 24 hr water bath incubation, I knew what that could mean. It would be fraught with possible...comprimise."

He nodded.

She looked back at him, with a grin. "What makes you think...I only brewed one, Draco?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in disbelief. She was so out of his league, it wasn't even funny. He opened his eyes as a soft hand cupped his cheek.

"And that, people, is why our side is going to win, Mr. Malfoy!" She said, matter of factly as she removed her hand, and left the room. "Try to get some sleep, would you?"

He nodded, as he watched her leave.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Things had only gotten more strained in the world, as the end of the year came to a close. Despite the unrest, as Draco was packing his things into his green steamer trunk, he couldn't help but to feel a little happiness and a little dazed that things had shook out the way they did, academically.

_He had tied for first_, with Hermione "Brainiac" Granger, in Potions!

All because he scored 1 point better than she did on the last final of the class. One piddly point! As he turned to go, a small owl pecked at his window with an envelope that was marked "confidential - Mr. Draco Malfoy, eyes only" on it.

Curious, he ripped open the envelope, stunned to find Hermione Granger's potion final in it.

He scanned it, and saw the point that she missed on the exam. His stomach sank:

_"True or false: to optimize the Leveatavious potion, one should use fresh ginger. _

Hermione had answered false. False! She did this on purpose! She had thrown her final, by one point, in order to enable the tie. All of a sudden, the test evaporated and a small note was left in his hand:

* * *

As you can see, I held back, this time. So now we're even, and can go into whatever the future holds in debt to no one, if you follow my meaning. You held back, I held back. Even steven. Although I hope that someday, on the other side, we could maybe have another butter beer again. Good luck, secret Lion. I promise to never tell anyone how brave you really are. -H

* * *

**-FIN.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author**: Ladyfun

**Title: Preservation**

**Pairing**: Lily/James

**Rating:** Generally K+

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich.

**SUMMARY:** For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 9. She has a need that recurs, once a year…every year. James indulges her, heartbreaking as it may be for them both.

**A/N #1:** Written for Round 9 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is "reserve" for Chaser 3 for the Wigtown Wanderers. Prompt: Focus on a necessity for your character/pairing (Lily Evans)

**A/N #2**: Optional prompts used (setting) Godric's Hollow; (word) Present; (quote) "The secret of happiness is not doing what one loves, but loving what one does" – J.M. Barrie

**Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it as chapter 2 of Second Chances. This is UNRELATED story content to Second Chances.**

* * *

Title: Preservation  
Round 9/Captain Love  
Position: Sub for Chaser 3- Prompt: Lilly Potter  
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

* * *

She has a need that recurs, annually.

On All Hallows Eve, she and James prepare themselves as best they can, to visit Godric's Hallow. He puts on his trench, the one she hates because it has literally become threadbare in the elbow and he refuses to allow them to be patched. She puts on a soft cashmere dress and her warm downy coat; they bundle up and prepare for the_ almost always_ unusually cold evening that confronts them on this day. Usually before they depart, James will remind Lily how "bloody cold" the Western part of England is at this time of year, already.

She just smiles that warm smile of hers, and focuses it on James.

He pauses, momentarily.

It is the smile that can move mountains, the one that can make you believe _you can do anything_. He knows its coming, so he sighs, and buttons up his coat, resigned to the fact she will convince him to go, regardless of what he might counter with.

"Ready, dear?"

"Of course, James." She agrees, steadying herself on his arm.

The nausea-inducing suction was very distinct.

She hated apparition, back when she was alive; now, as a _dead _person (or "alive-challenged", as persons of her ilk preferred to call themselves), it is decidedly _even worse_. She and Remus speculated one day on why the once-a-year apparition was so grueling on the Potters; Remus surmised that it was because there was such an ornery distance to travel. One cannot actually measure in kilometers the long distance between observing the dead, and observing the living, after all.

Once they arrived, they smelled the familiar aroma of the graveyard in which they are buried. It looks the same today as it did in 1981.

James had to move mountains and rivers, practically, to get them this unusual travel pass that allowed them to return, once a year, to the Hollow. It was allowed only with the strict understanding that Lilly would not interact with the "alive" people, and never reveal herself. Godrick Hollow had been their first "newlywed" home, and it felt very comfortable to them both.

It was an accident when she first saw the golden trio, or at least, two thirds of them.

Seeing Harry and Hermione, and their obvious fatigue, it took everything in her to reveal herself. She rationalized, well, James and I showed ourselves to Harry, when he was younger, back in 1997.

"James!" She cried. "It's Harry!"

She watched, as that dreaded snake lured Harry away from that delightful bushy haired girl, Hermione, and he nearly died. James was better than she; he was more able to address his feelings. He grabbed her, and whispered, "This isn't the mirror, Lilly. They're not supposed to see us."

Lily just felt a mother's guilt, for "abandoning" her child, despite the fact she had nothing to do with that outcome. She didn't _voluntarily_ agree to be murdered; none of this was her doing. However, that did little to assuage her feelings when she saw Harry, each year, growing up.

Finally, one year, he brings a read headed girl, with him.

"Hey its one of the Weasleys', he's bringing round to meet us! Well, dead us, anyway..." James says, excited.

"Harry is dating a _boy_ Weasley?"

"No, goof! A girl Weasley!"

Lilly looked confused, back then."I didn't know that Arthur and Molly had a girl! Not that there would have been anything wrong with that, dating a boy, I mean..."

She regards the redhead that would soon become her daughter in law and have a distinguished professional Quiddich career, playing for the Harpies, until her 2nd concussion finally forced her to retire.

"Well. I guess she'll grow on me."

"What's the problem?" James asks.

"Red hair."

"What?" He laughs. "That's like, inverse discrimination, dear!"

"I just didn't want my grandchildren to have red hair, dear. That's all. It's a hard row to tow." She muses, knowingly.

He just laughs, kissing her. "Don't you know, red hair is the ingredient to concocting the _prettiest_ women of all?"

She blushes.

She is secretly glad it was one of the Weasley's; they have grandchildren coming out of their ears, practically! Let Molly gush over any of the other 10 billion grandkids - this way, she is more likely to have a more than willing other nana on the girl's side to giving her the babies! She hoped they might have three, somehow. She had always wanted three - it was never her own intention to have one.

She had long ago determined three children was the absoutle perfect number. One was lonely, and would present its own trouble. Having two might risk a relationship that could sour, like hers and Petunia's had; best, was three, she decided.

**XOXOXOXOXO**

Her need hasn't changed, as the years went on; if anything, it grew.

James had mastered patience for taking this grueling trip, once a year. This year, however, was extra-special for them both. This year, Harry and Ginerva bring an infant to the cemetery. Bald as a bowling ball with freckles and one tiny curl of red hair, they held up a chunky infant, giggling despite its location in a Graveyard, too young to be alarmed.

"Mum? Dad? I want you to meet someone, okay? This is Harry Potter, Junior!" He holds up the baby to the headstones.

Lily's heart swells that day, and the smile doesn't come off…even during apparition back, to the other side.

He thought it would be harder for her, to see the grandchild she couldn't participate with, being deceased. He knew he had recruited her, into the Order; he feels a little badly for that. "Any regrets, dear, besides the obvious?" James asks, as they walk hand in hand out of the cemetery.

As if she knows what he's thinking, she does "the smile." He feels better.

She says, quietly. "Well, it's like the saying goes, "_The secret of happiness is not doing what one loves, but loving what one does._" I wouldn't have had it any other way, James, even if it meant _preserving_ my life. We did something _important_, James! We didn't give up, when everyone else was."

Then she did it again...that infamous smile of hers.

**XOXOXOXOX**

It is this most recent trip, that really does her in.

She has met Harry Jr. and James the III; but little does she realize the delight that will come from her taking in her third grandchild, with the fire engine red head of hair that crowns her head.

It is the first _girl. _

"Mom, meet Lily Luna Potter, and say "hi" to her!"

Lily Sr. gasps, and Lily Jr. decides to take a nap, instead, shortly after passing gas.

Ginny leans over to whisper soothing to her husband, along the lines of, "Okay, you've shown them your hat trick. I hope they can rest in peace, now. "

Lily Sr. decides, in that moment, that she _very much_ likes this Weasley girl, after all.

She smiles.

**THE END.**


	3. Little White Lies

**Author**: Ladyfun

**Title: Little White Lies  
**

**Pairing**: None. Ron. Harry. Hermione. Ginny. Fleur. Kingsley. No letter "y". Nuff said.

**Rating:** Generally K+

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich.

**SUMMARY:** For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 10. The little white lies that we tell ourselves in order to get through the day can come crashing down around one so fast, one can't breathe. Ron is about to learn exactly how that feels as he enters his first job following "The Big One."

**A/N #1:** Written for Round 10 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is Sub for Chaser 3 for the Wigtown Wanderers. Chaser 3 prompt: Law Enforcement

**A/N #2**: OPTIONAL PROMPTS: 1. (restriction) no letter "y" 2. (word) onwards 3. (quote) "I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me." S.E. Hinton, The Outsiders. And if it sounds stilted, that's because...**.IT IS! ** As it turns out, it's frickin' **hard** to write without adverbs and other modifiers and pronouns that start or end with y! Darn you, you Quiddich mods!

**Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it in another spot in one of the old stories. Sorry if there's confusion.  
**

* * *

**Title: Little White Lies**  
Round 10/Crashing the Ministry  
Position: Sub for Chaser 3- Prompt: Law Enforcement (Wizenmagot)  
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

* * *

His mother was so proud of him, when he gave her the news of his M.O.M. placement.

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

"Ronald! I knew you'd make the clan so proud!" She beamed. Then, her face grew dark. "Please tell me ...well, it's not as a "hit wizard", Ron…please tell me it's not that!"

His sister rolled her orbits to the Heavens, knowing the truth. "Ma, one has to have **5** O.W.L.S. to be in that section, including Defense Against the Dark Arts! Ron didn't even_ sit_ for that exam!"

Molly disregarded her daughter's unwanted brush with the truth. "_We all know_ exceptions were made for the Golden Trio, now, Ginerva! I'm sure Ronald had his _pick_ of jobs."

"You bet, Ma!" He said. "I can neither confirm nor oppose what I chose, but I can tell the public... I am indeed in The Department of Magical Law Enforcement." He said, quite proud.

"Oh, Ronald!" She sighed, beaming. She gave him another squeeze, for good measure; to which he relented, giving a sheepish grin, in return.

**XOXOXOXOX**

While it was true that he had been placed in the "glamorous" office of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, located on the prestigious second floor of the M.O.M., people would think with some automatic thinking that it equated to "One must be an Auror.".

The Auror Office, of course, was the most well known section within his office, and the subdivision of Hit Wizards his mother referenced, also fell within this section. He had known, almost his entire life, the requirements for the job: An Auror is an uber trained specialist law enforcement wizard who investigates crimes involving the Dark Arts and apprehends resultant Dark Wizards who do these sorts of things.

Professor McG had beat it into them time after time that the job requirements for the Auror Office required a _minimum_ of 5 N.E.W.T.s -with marks no lower than "Exceeds Expectations". He hadn't met the requirements in either Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, or Herbs; and for someone who had dreamed of entering the training program, he had failed, in a spectacular manner.

Ron felt certain he could pass the series of character and aptitude tests, though. However, it was not to be. He didn't get the chance, despite his "Golden Trio" moniker and credentials.

The_ other_ two-thirds of the trio, however, possessed the "right stuff," according to the Auror selection team. Potter became a "Hit Wizard", and Hermione was not just selected as an Auror, she was appointed a squad leader of an elite Auror team! This, despite her request to be placed into the Department of the Regulation of Magical Creatures, for Merlin's sakes!

He remembered the moment all three got their placements, as vivid as if it happened right now. He remembered telling himself that it was irrelevant that he had been _less than stellar_ in school, and not interested in rendering himself; school was irrelevant. After all, he was the _muscle_ of the Golden Trio, for Heaven's sake!

It was a little white lie he kept telling himself, over and over. Then again, he mused to himself, _I lie to myself all the time... but I never believe me. _He tried to avoid thinking those nagging thoughts like, "I should have studied more."

And that is where he found himself, telling himself more lies in the hopes the lies would become true, such as "O.W.L.s were irrelevant". He was saying that over and over, as though it would become true, while overhearing the Minister's conversation with Hermione, on accident.

She was making a last ditch attempt to be placed into the Magical Creatures Department in some usual Hermione bleeding-heart manner, of course. The minister was having none of it.

"Nonsense, Hermione! Hermione Granger is going to run the Auror department, soon!" The Minister said, chuckling.

"I had hoped to go to Oxford, actually, and study law, actually, Sir..."

"A _muggle_ school?" He scoffed. "What does a _muggle_ establishment have to teach _the brains_ of the trio? No, dear...I'm sorry, but I think that Hermione Granger's place is **here.** Bringing justice to our land, and getting the public to trust the M.O.M. again."

"Alright," she agreed, sounding glum. "But after 36 quarters time, I get to go to advanced civil schooling. _Paid._"

"Alright, if that wife at chez Delacour-Granger doesn't have the great Hermione Granger chasing after three kids or so, then we'll talk about additional responsibilities." He chuckled.

Hermione raised herself up to her full height. "Minister," she said, sounding authoritative, "I assure the good Minister, that The French Ambassador, Madame Fleur Delacour, has_ better things_ to concern herself with than if I can attend advanced civil schooling, or not."

She shot him a warning glare.

"Alright, alright!" He said, throwing up his hands. "It's just…I had lunch with Fleur a forenight ago, and she was going _on and on_ about her "Veela biological clock" racing so much faster than other's! That's all."

Hermione huffed, mumbling something about histrionic Veelas, as she stomped out of his office. She bumped shoulders accidently with Ron, as Ron entered.

"Oh...Hi there, Ron." She said, mustering up a smile, as she headed out the door to go find her spouse in order to give her a piece of her (rather large) mind. He looked after her, with a wistful gaze, as she did her usual Hermione rant down the hall.

"She's mental, sometimes, that one! But she means well." He offered.

The minister all business with Ron.

"Good afternoon, Robert."

_"Ronald._" He corrected.

"Oh, yes, right. Sorry." The minister cleared his throat. "Thanks for coming here. So... I've been able to honor the request submitted for placement into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ronald."

_"Awesome!_ When does Auror training start?"

"Er…The placement is into a different section, son." He said, almost apologetic. "Well, see...your aptitude scores, Ron...Well, they-"

"But I'm one of the Golden Trio!" He interrupted in protest.

The minister looked at him, stern. "Yes," he said, after a pause. "That garnered entrance into this section for an interview. But the profilers, well, it unearthed a few things from the past, Robert."

_"Ronald."_

"Oh, indeed! Apologies, again." He cleared his throat. "The report is not exactly favorable, Ronald." He said, enunciating his name, clear as a bell. "It seems that there is a clear propensity for … being somewhat of a_ loose cannon_."

"What?" He said, dumbfounded.

"Isn't it true, Ronald, that during the now pivotal mission of the Hunt for the Horcruxes, there was documented abandonment of the mission, leaving Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger, alone?"

"Well, I suppose, but it was just for a little bit…"

"Eight weeks."

"Was it that long?" He said, nervous. "The recollection isn't so good...well, it isn't exact."

"The recollection extracted in the beginning of profiling came direct from Ronald W., and the pensive," it says here in this report, " The Minister said, reading aloud. "That is the exact locus where this information was retrieved, Ronald."

He looked around the room, nervous. "Oh."

The Minister paused. "What about the time ... documented here, that there was _erratic behavior_ during a dance? It reports that _"Ronald W. became enraged during the fourth academic calendar, with verbal abuse towards Ms. Granger, accusing her of all sorts of behavior, including fraternizing with their "enemies._" Trigger a recollection, Ron?" He asked.

"Who told about that?_ Hermione?_ Look, she's a lesbian now, one can't trust her to—"

He cut him off,with a silencing gesture. "No, Ronald, this was not provided from Ms. Granger, who, I might add, along with Mr. Potter, came to staunch defense of the "behavior exhibited," actually."

Ron looked confused. "I don't understand?"

"This incident was provided from Auror Krum, in fact."

Ron turned red. "But…he's a damn Bulgarian!"

The minister remained calm. "True, be that as it is, nonetheless he works for the British M.O.M., Ronald. He has since the conclusion of the war, in which he fought alongside the British. He has been a competent Auror for the past few months,within this section , Ronad. I hand picked him, in fact."

"Oh." He sighed. This wasn't going in the manner he anticipated.

**"**And for what its worth, Ronald, Ms. Granger's sexual orientation, as well as all the members of the M.O.M. is a matter of private concern. In short, it is irrelevant to how one performs in their job." He said, on point. "Provided one _performs_…. in their job."

Ron, once again, used his go-to response. "Oh."

The Minister cleared his throat. "However, given that I've known Arthur for a lifetime, and he has been a true and dedicated servant to this government his entire life, I am determined to find a place for his son within this section, in order to be - at least- placed with the remainder of the Golden Trio."

Ron exhaled a sigh of relief.

"A choice, Ronald." The Minister said, grave-appearing. "Which is preferred? Improper Use of Magic Office, Wizengamot Administration Services, or Department of Intoxicating Substances?"

Ron made a face.

"I guess…um, well...Improper Use of Magic, I reckon."

"Excellent choice, Son. Report to Mr. Dodsworth tomorrow at 8am, sharp. Don't let me down."

"I won't." He said, glum, as he left the room , managing a grim smile.

The minister watched Ron walk down the hall, waiting until he hit the elevators, and was safely gone. He then picked up a handful of floo powder, and threw it in.

"Is it done?" A familiar voice said.

"It is."

"Thanks, Kings. For real."

"Don't thank me too soon! And if he fucks it up…"

"I know,_ I know_…we can hope that he won't."

"Now, I believe we have a_ debt to settle,_ Madame."

The voice sighed. "I thought this office was above bribes, Shacklebolt!"

"Well...that was _before_ the famous Chaser scheduled herself to make her debut this Saturday against the Heidelberg Harriers, on a huge worldwide stage with the finals in the balance, Ginerva! This highly anticipated debut with the Harpies made tickets impossible to get...even for me!"

"So I've heard." She said, grinning. "A deal is a deal, however. What is the number a person might be in need of, if such a person were to exist, of course?"

"Well, the entire Shacklebolt gaggle are fans of said Chaser, Gin."

The Quiddich athlete groaned. "What's the number, Sir?"

"Eight."

"Ok." She gulped. "One might find them, receiving them in an unmarked owl, tomorrow."

"I better." He said, warning. "That brother... Ronald... has no business setting foot in this building."

Gin raised her hand. "Be that as it is, sir, he's still ...a brother! I can't have him bad mouthed or else I'm taking back the tickets and the wedding invitation previously given to the aformentioned Ministerness."

He chuckled. "Can't do that, Miss! Remember? I'm performing the event!"

"I can rethink that. Fleur's ordained, I hear."

"Well, she's a lot better looking, that's for sure…." The two friends laughed, made a few more pleasantries, and then bid adieu.

**XOXOXO**

In the months to follow and onwards, all three made their marks in their sections within the Department…in their own manner. On occasion, Ron would look with a wistful glint towards the Auror department, but after visiting Potter for the fifth or sixth time in his special reserved bed at St. Mungo's, he decided he was rather glad that his job wasn't quite so ... dangerous.

In addition, he also watched a frazzled Hermione, balancing being a barrister, a mother of five, and having an often temptious, gorgeous, and possessive wife...all while running her section, and decided he liked the spot where he was.

When his sister retired (against her will, after her third concussion) from the Harpies after a long and storied professional Quiddich career, he was able to feel genuine and proud of her. He confessed he too would be retiring soon, and traveling to see the world, a bit. Gin smiled a knowing smile, at his confession.

Never once did she tell Ron - or another soul-about her "involvement" in his career, and Ron was none the wiser.

_Thank Merlin that Minister Shacklebolt loved Quiddich!_ She thought to herself. And, once again, like she had those long months ago, Ginerva W. Potter decided that a_ few_ white lies wouldn't amount to much in the big picture.

She figured in the end, it was par for the course, in that Department.

**THE END.**


End file.
